irony

this past friday evening i unintentionally buried myself in the depths of the Mall of America- the four storied tyrant that threatens all of the small scale local businesses. After spending four hours marching myself through her halls with a couple friends, I sat down outside of the second floor of Nordstroms on a brown cushioned bench- expecting my sister to deliver me from my crisis. My stomach was beginning to turn even more rapidly than when i had first realized the amount of shoppers searching for God knows what. as Mr. security gaurd paced the length of the store front, I opened my purse in search of minor entertainment. Sure enough, there sat my book, "Walden". Although I was in a pool of consummerism, I read Thoreau's words on how we worship Fashion- not God. he describes clothing as superfluous, and a pleasure that is too often taken for granted. how many suits of clothes does a man need? how often do we wear our clothes until they are worn to shreds?
"it is desirable that a man be clad so simply that he lives in all respects so campactly and preparedly, that, if an enemy take the town, he can, like the old philosopher, walk out the gate empty-handed without anxiety."
I giggled to myself- and the security gaurd watching to see if I would next remove a gun from my large purse- as i concluded my ironic situation.
i scoff at myself for my own desire for material possesions. how necessary is an entire wardrobe full of newish clothes? why do i write this and find my closet remaining in its previous state of ?
miserable.
i don't mind Thoreau's Transcendentalist beliefs. he has his head on better than the greater portion of us. lets go to the woods and build our own Walden pond in Emerson's backyard. we'll live deliberately- sucking out all the marrow of life. And not, when we come to die, discover that we had not lived.